Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.

To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.